


the drop dead sea

by stellatiate



Series: lazuli [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellatiate/pseuds/stellatiate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He snaps the clip into her hair in place—she wore it like armor, ever since the day he and his father picked it out for its blue hanging beads and pressed polar bear-dog fur and blue feathers.</p><p> </p><p>-—katara. au, age gap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. —we were unbreakable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> her brother is the one who prepares her for battle.

Sokka is the one who yanks stubborn tangles of her hair towards the back of her head, the one who laughs quietly when she yelps or pouts because she looks so young that way. Sometimes he forgets they are no longer children, even as he sits behind his sister as she blots her face with war paint, lines kohl around her eyes and presses bloody hues to her lips.

“You know they’re going to give you hell,” he says, tugs on a curl just for the hell of it. Katara shudders under his grip and whips her head back to pierce a glare through him, that same admonishing look he remembers from his youth.

“I have you for a brother,” she scoffs as she turns her head, “I know how to give ‘em hell, too.”

It doesn’t offend him as much as touch him, that she thinks that way. _Good_ , he can only think to himself, _good that you’re ready_. He snaps the clip into her hair in place—she wore it like armor, ever since the day he and his father picked it out for its blue hanging beads and pressed polar bear-dog fur and blue feathers.

Sokka rests his hands on her shoulders and sighs, looking into the icy mirror she has rendered opposite of herself, tilting her head around to gaze at her reflection. "If you’re wondering,” he says, tightens his grip on her shoulders, “yes, you do look like you’ll be thirty soon.”

Katara flips her hand up and all of the red paint in the dish in front of her slaps her brother in his face, drips down his beard. Waterbenders.

He splutters as she stands up, her lips pulled into a tiny smile that blooms into raucous laughter the more he blinks indignantly, staring at her. He watches her sweep the paint off of his face with a single flourish of her hands, and as he goes to chastise her, she cups his cheeks with those same hands.

“Sokka,” she frowns, and he looks down at her. It is hard for him to grasp, though; he remembers cradling her in his arms when she’d been only three years old, and now here she was, making political moves and nearing the steep into adulthood. “I can do this, can’t I?”

He waves his hand as if to push those memories away, because his sister is a strong woman now, and there is no use in him remembering her as a child. Sokka steps forward and slips himself into an embrace, closes his arms around her. “Of course you can, Katara.”


	2. —and you let them live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> katara shackles herself back into restraints of her own volition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for **shannon** because look at (y)our baby!

Katara thinks that all of them are a joke. She sweeps into the circular room, blue silk fluttering in a river-run trail behind her, and silence falls heavily over everyone. But none of them are of consequence to her, so she maneuvers herself into the seat her brother had told her would be reserved for her, carefully crossing her legs over one another and tipping her head back to survey the battlements.

This is starting to feel a lot like war and the tension that prickles over her skin excites her; something feral and powerful seems to brim inside of her at the idea of sinking her teeth into something and tearing her way through this room, bloody.

“Ah,” a voice breathes from the far end of the half-moon shaped dais, where Katara, as the subject of their meeting, sits in the direct center, “now that you are here, Master Katara, we can move forward with the proceedings.”

She smiles, teeth bared in blinding white points, and nods her head in deference. The elder who had spoken first appraises her with mild concern, but if there is something he wants to say to her, he doesn’t. His robes are pale and as he stands, he blends into the icy palette of the room around him. Katara blinks, and steels herself for his opposition, no matter how gentle it may come across.

“It seems to be that our next order of business is the election of our young Master Katara as Chieftess of the Southern Water Tribe, and we are here to grant a motion that it passes. However, it is our duty as representatives of the tribe to see that it is in our best interests.”

Katara laces her fingers together and watches them share glances with one another, until one representative stands. She recognizes him in passing, from the way he used to sit so dutifully by her father’s side, and how he’d always thought the promise of Sokka as Chieftain was a brilliant one. He hadn’t been pleased to hear the news of Sokka traveling to Republic City, but Katara knew her brother was destined for things so much bigger than their homeland.

“Let us be frank and not waste your time, Master Katara. We believe your talents would be better leant to the women of this tribe, or perhaps returning to overseeing the Avatar and his travels. There are plenty of capable individuals and the role of Chieftess should not be handed around at the family table until the last available candidate can take the job.”

She is ready for this. Katara stands solemnly, drawing her hands together in front of her and pulling her body into elegant posture, scanning the room idly. “I appreciate your concern,” she tips her head down in a half-nod, “but I must say that this is not something I have rolled around in my palms as a passing fancy. I have fought my entire childhood for the safety and preservation of my home, and of the world, and I would do no such injustice to the South by whisking myself away to menial work.”

Katara’s eyes narrow, but she tries to keep the venom at bay for moments longer. “If you don’t realize that I have been suggested because I am _capable_ , and not because I am _available_ , then I invite you to rethink that.”

Someone’s voice stumbles over a phrase of words that thickens the bile in the back of her throat, “You should be so much more suited to women’s work.”

And she’s not sure which of them said it, but arranged in the center constricted on either side by old men who think no better of her than they did in the North, Katara clenches her jaw before she speaks.

“And what, pray tell, is women’s work? Because as a woman, I am the _only_ bending Master in the entirety of the South Pole. As a woman, I found my way in the world, traveling to master my craft. I was fortunate enough to cross paths with the young Avatar in my journey and we learned from one another, but I was no companion to him, I was a _combatant_. I am strong, in spite of what you think my feminine restraints should be, and I know I need not pin you all down with blades of ice for you to understand that. The fortune of my good manners, _that_ is the only thing that will restrain me.”

Katara makes sure her eyes connect with every single one of the men seated around her, makes sure she looks every inch of the menacing, proud woman whom had sworn to never bend, to never bow, to never defer to _anyone_. Her fingers idly drift up to the circle resting in the hollow of her neck, and before she bothers to swipe at the tears that will soon come, she slides out of her chair and exits the meeting hall.

She is strong, but brittle, and her tears make her no less either of those things.


	3. —i just might break the chain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sokka brings news of new reign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i updated this for **socks** so thank her tbh.

There is a day left until she knows whether she has failed or not.

It’s like a stone rolled into the center of her chest because it is easy to carry at first until it is not; until she has borne the weight of it so much that it threatens to spill out of her ribcage, tearing everything else in the way down with it.

At least Sokka is home; his visit to Republic City lasts a few days, and when he steps back into their home, it is with armfuls of presents and mouthfuls of stories about the weather and the beauty and the architecture and all of the places he can go shopping.

It’s when he’s done putting all of his things in their proper place that he turns his attention to her, his arms held out at his side, a grin stretched to the corners of his face.

“Katara,” he says, light and airy, and he envelopes her in a hug that drains every last worry out of her, breaks down every single defense inside of her, “I’ve missed you.”

And all she wants to say is _I’ve missed you too, Sokka,_ but she _can’t_ , because it just won’t come out that way. “I can’t take it,” she whispers to her brother and he barely catches it, barely catches on to her distress. But then his arms are tighter around her shoulders and his hand is cupped against the back of her head.

“Hey,” his voice is quiet but firm, and it is one of those moments when she feels like he is returning all of their childhood favors, all of the times where she was a parent to him, “Katara, Katara, Katara. You’re stronger than all of them put together. You can, you _can_ take it.”

She doesn’t feel like she can, though. But she is safe for the moment with Sokka’s arms around her and her face buried into the fluff on his shoulder and all of her stress being squeezed from her frame.

“C’mon, baby sister,” he says obnoxiously, squeezes her until she is pulling herself out of his grasp and yanking the tangles of her hair from the crooks of his arms, “since when have you let something like a group of old men tell you what to do?”

Katara doesn’t want to laugh because there is nothing funny, but still her lips crack into a smile and a laugh is hidden behind her mouth at her brother’s words. She is still that same girl in there somewhere, the girl standing atop ice structures and challenging master Waterbenders to fights.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes with the bumps of her knuckles, “I just let it get to me, I guess. I know I shouldn’t…but my logic doesn’t always match up so well with my emotions.”

And it never truly has because she has been a hurricane of different emotions pushed inside a vessel too small to contain it all; Katara’s life has been nothing but bursts of storms leaking out at different points in time.

“That’s okay,” he claps her on the back, strolls out of her sight for a moment, “I have something for you.”

Katara sighs. Her brother is always dragging trinkets with him from the places he goes, and though she appreciates it most of the time, it is exactly what she doesn’t want right now. A distraction from everything else on her mind.

“Look, Sokka,” she straightens her posture when he returns, holding a small green clutch embossed with gold, a smirk plastered onto his face, “I really appreciate it. I just…not right now, okay?”

He pushes the clutch into her hands anyway, ignoring the annoyed presence of the frown on her face, and throws his hands up in the air. “Fine, fine,” he waves his hands absently, “I’ll leave you be, but you might wanna check that bag out anyway. It’s cute.”

She has half a mind to yell something back after him, but she doesn’t. Instead, she runs her fingers along the golden edges of the stylish new accessory. As much as Katara doesn’t want to admit it, Sokka has always had a luxurious taste in mind for the things he really wanted, and she knew she’d keep his gift regardless of her mood.

But sitting back onto the edge of her bed with it between her hands gave rise to many other thoughts. She’d wanted to talk to Sokka, _truly_ talk to him about how she was feeling, but all he’d done was hug her and pat her on the head and give her a gift, like she was someone who needed to be pacified.

“Stupid idiot brother,” she mumbles to herself, falling back onto her bed, the clutch sitting on the rise of her chest. Something peeks out of the corner of it, a cream edge of what looks to be a letter, and Katara pulls herself up onto her elbows, cranes her hands against her chest to free the letter from the inside of the bag.

It takes her a moment to read it, and it freezes time as it sinks into her blood. But only a moment because then she feels nothing but shame burning across her cheeks and the innate desire to freeze Sokka’s toes together while he sleeps.

“Sokka!” She screams and it takes him only a few moments to waltz his way back into her room, his arms open wide towards her, grinning insanely.

She’s crying before she even notices, and Sokka is hugging her before she even thinks to move towards him.

“Congratulations,” he laughs into the top of her head, “Chieftain.”


	4. —but it will always be like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> before she shakes the earth, there are some things she must know.

Coronation is not as grand of an event in the South Pole as it is around the world; Katara is crowned with a heavy golden necklace inlaid with sparkling jewels, her hand tucked inside of the warmth of her brother’s palms, her eyes red and fresh with a new spill of tears. She smiles through the words, listens as they touch white ash to forehead as a blessing to her thoughts, to her cheeks as a blessing to her livelihood, to her chest as a blessing for her heart.

Sokka hugs her again, when everything is said and done, and Katara smiles under the weight of his arm around her shoulders, nearly overwhelmed to tears again.

The elders smile, though Katara wonders if they are thinking of her father in those moments, as they watch his children. After the ceremony is complete, one of them approaches her quietly, a lingering presence between everyone else and their quiet congratulations.

“Master Katara, if I still may call you that,” she nods in his direction, half a smile pulled across her lips as she waits for him to continue, “there are a few things we should go over today. We’ll keep you from the meetings until next week so you can become acclimated with everything, but it’s imperative that you begin soon.”

Katara’s face crumples into a vision of stern decisiveness almost immediately. “I would prefer if you could brief me on everything tomorrow, perhaps even give it just another day’s time. No one would want internal and international matters hanging in the balance over little old me.”

He seems conflicted with her choices, but something flickers across his eyes in understanding, and he nods his head evenly. “We’ll start some of the preparation tonight, if you’d rather. There are a few customary things we must do beforehand, however.” He folds his hands into his pockets, withers in posture just a fair amount.

It isn’t until later that night when Katara is nestled in a wrap of furs with papers scattered across her lap that she sees Sokka again. He’s grinning from ear to ear, leading someone behind him on his arm. She doesn’t have the time to look up, instead flips through another few sheets of paper detailing the legal disputes being brought up in overseas territories.

“Hey, Katara,” she can hear the grin in his voice, and it only makes her want to pinch the bridge of her nose, rubbing the tired space between her eyes. But she lifts her head, her mouth parting in slight surprise.

The girl on Sokka’s arm is unfamiliar, shyly concealing herself behind the bulk of his shadow. Her hair is a bleach-white color, like the moon, like whale-bone. All Katara can think about is how much she reminds her of her childhood friend, the Princess from the Northern Tribe, sickly but sweet, shy but fierce.

“What’ve you done to this poor girl?” She mumbles it loud enough for Sokka to hear, to which she is given a squawk of indignation, and an almost silent laugh.

Katara can practically _hear_ him pouting. “Actually, she’s here for _you_ , so _you’re welcome_.” That is all he has to say before he disappears, leaving her to stand awkwardly in front of her. She can only imagine how she looks, crumpled up in a heap of furs with her hair tangled amongst the soft fabric. She hasn’t moved since the elders gave her the piles of work she’d have to catch up on, as well as educating her in the customs she would have to begin taking care of on a daily basis.

“You can sit.” Her voice is still quiet, but her guest doesn’t move, not even an inch.

“I’m—your Highness, I’m your assistant, Noriko. I was sent by the elders, because, well I—”

This is far too much politesse for her, waving her hand absently to interrupt. Katara blinks the sleepiness out of her gaze in order to stare at Noriko seriously. And seriously, she is a striking young woman; her hair brings color to her face, the rosy apples of her cheeks and the red bow of her mouth. Her eyes, a blue so deep that borders on purple, are round like little oceans set into her face.

“Noriko, right?” She waits for a nod before continuing. “You can call me Katara, I’m not royalty. And I don’t need an assistant. You’re a smart woman, right? You don’t need to be here brushing my hair and telling me where I need to be at what time. I need an advisor.”

“But your High—”

“ _Katara_ ,” she insists, rolling her eyes, “and if I wanted an assistant, I wouldn’t tie up someone like you who clearly has more inclination for politics than the average person. C’mon,” she tips her hand towards her, “sit down and help me get through these.”

Noriko seems to contemplate it, tucking the short cut of her hair behind her ears, with a frown. But it doesn’t take long, just several steps in the right direction before she sits down beside Katara, and fully begins to dissect the paperwork surrounding her. 

Two days pass and Katara catches up quickly, with Noriko’s help. She still can’t get the white-haired girl to stop calling her by titles and pretenses, but Katara shrugs it off after the thirtieth correction with a tiresome sigh.

“Your Highness,” she says with her sharply filed fingernails curled around a stack of papers, “I think the best course of action, for now, would be to make a few trips. Right now, a presence from the South would be more efficient at enforcing your stance than a mere letter. But that is simply my opinion, I—”

Katara flaps her hand towards her again, shaking her head. “You’re right, Noriko, okay? I definitely need to make my presence known now that I’m here.” There is only a bare pause in thoughts, one that doesn’t last for more than a minute.

She smiles, the thoughts whirling around in his head. “Noriko?” She tips her head up, eyes wide and attentive, “we should pack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chaptered companion to this should be updated tomorrow. also, if it isn't clear, this is the first in the series and therefore happens _before_ everything else in the series.


End file.
